Tension
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: Tensions are high, and Bond needs some relief. M stands guard, and she is having none of Bond's whining.


_He moves in to kiss her._

"James, no. We can't. We shouldn't."

"To hell with that."

He presses her up against the wall and leans down to meet her mouth. She evades him, and he ends up kissing her neck. He mouths her, sucking, trying to leave a mark.

"It would be the end of the both of us."

The thought of leaving it all behind is tempting. It would be delicious to go and never look back, her at his side and he at hers. Unstoppable. He feels himself getting hard in his trousers.

"Does that matter?" he asks, pulling her in to him by her hips. "If they can't carry on without us, what's the point?"

She sighs in frustration. He's not listening.

"You have a job to do, 007. You're supposed to be out there, after the mark, wooing the girls, and getting banged up."—her breath catches when he begins to hitch up her skirt—"He'll get away."

James is beyond caring. Can't she tell that he wants _her_? Bugger the mission! She's been in his ear piece all afternoon, getting him riled up as she bossed him. He was so used to Q or Eve or Tanner directing him that to only hear her voice was practically hypnotic. To imagine her next to him on a mission, seducing her instead of the many faceless women he has slept his way through. God, he could barely focus then, and now?

He gets a better hold on her and lifts her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around him or risk toppling the both of them. It makes her involuntarily rock against his erection as he tries to find the best position to hold her up. She's surprised he hasn't broken through the zipper on his trousers already.

"James," she calmly discourages. "Please."

It's like the wind has gone out of his sails. He carefully puts her back down on her feet, and she moves to smooth her dress down.

Now he's the one leaning against the wall. He slams his fist against it in frustration.

"James, you're alright. You're high strung," she tries. "He'll be out there a while. Fredrickson will keep you covered if you need to go...blow off some steam."

He laughs mirthlessly.

"Have a wank, you mean."

"Yes. I need you focused on something other than your cock."

"You want me to walk back out there like this? The toilet's across the ballroom. I'll look like a pervert."

Now M's really getting annoyed. She had tried to be understanding. She knew what it was like to get keyed up during a mission. Tension always ran high. Every agent needed their time to themselves every once in a while. But now James was simply being a stubborn bastard.

"Fine then. Toss off right here. See if I care."

She moves to leave when his hand catches her.

"Not going to stand guard for me?"

He has the audacity to smirk. The heel. But the last thing she needed was Bond's cover being blown just because he had gotten himself into a state. She sighs in resignation and moves across the hallway to keep a better eye on the door at the end of the corridor and adjoining hallway. She crosses her arms in front of her. M is wholly unimpressed with the situation.

There is a moment where neither of them move or speak.

M prompts him, "Well then...?"

In a flurry of motion, Bond's undoing his pants, letting them drop to the floor around his ankles, and pulling his briefs down his thighs. He grabs his aching cock and freezes, the reality of the situation really setting in: M is going to watch him rub one out. And she looks disinterested, unaffected. He's uncharacteristically nervous, but he wraps his hand around the base and begins to slowly fist himself. He moans a bit as he relaxes just enough to begin to enjoy it.

M huffs, and he pauses.

"What?"

"Well, you're never going to get off at that rate."

James' stomach clenches as liquid heat pools in his groin. More orders from M; that was how this all _started_.

He resumes with a faster stroke this time. M acknowledges the change with a nod, and she moves to check the adjacent corridor. Her apparent indifference is driving him crazy. When she resumes her position standing caddy corner to him, watching impassively as his hand goes up and down, he whimpers. He wants her to just say something already. It feels like he's giving a presentation at the front of the class that's filled with misinformation, but he doesn't know how to stop once he's started.

"M."

"Yes?"

"Can you stop being a bloody statue? You're putting me off."

"What do you want me to do, James?"

"God, I don't know. Anything. Just, talk to me."

His thumb rubs his slit, and he gives a shudder.

"About what? Shall I tell you about my day? I made a grocery list while you were in the field. I'm out of eggs at home, which is inconvenient because I was planning on doing some baking tomorrow. Grand-niece's birthday. She'll be nine. Perhaps while I'm out, I'll go to the book shop. Not that I have much time for reading, but one really never—"

"_M_," he whines. "_Please_."

"Fine, 007. What do you want me to do? You want me go over there and take care of your little problem? Do you think you can boss me like one of your young things? Push me to my knees and have my mouth? Do you want to grab your cock and stroke you off? Make you come all over my hands and your thighs? No. You probably want to find any empty room and have a shag. Try to get me wet enough for you to shove in and ejaculate all over me, inside me."

James lets out throaty groans as his hand moves faster, twisting at her filthy words.

"You're imagining it now, aren't you? You want me bent over a bed with my dress rucked up around my waist like a common tart. You'd be pleading a case for your stamina when you come too soon, spilling over after less than five minutes."

He whimpers her name, her real name like a litany. It softens her. She shifts her tone accordingly.

"But it would be good, wouldn't it? You wouldn't hurt me. I know you, James. You'd have made sure I had already come while you preparing me and having your cock would be a relief. You're nice and fat. You make all the pretty girls weep in pleasure."

You would deserve it too. You deserve to come after working so hard. It's been a long fight for you, hasn't it. You need the relief as well. You crave it. So take it, James. Take your reward. Let yourself go. Let yourself come," she urges.

At her words, at her allowance, he does. White erupts from his cock in powerful arches, landing on the floor at his feet and spilling over his fist. When he's finally done, when it feels like he's completely empty, he drops to his knees on the floor, drained of all energy. She goes to him, pulling a handkerchief from her clutch and handing it to him. He takes it graciously once he's caught his breath a bit.

M checks the door while he attempts to gather himself together again. All clear. She walks back to his side.

"I'm sorry," he rasps, pulling himself upright.

She shakes her head. "It's alright. Let's put this behind us. There's still a job to do."

James nods in agreement, head already starting to feel clearer. He can see now that he had acted like a spoiled brat. No was no time to back out. He would have the man right where he wanted him when he went back out to the ballroom.

He begins moving to the door, but he stops short, turning back to her. "M?"

She meets his gaze, and his eyes tell her everything she needs to know.

"We'll talk later, 007. After the job is done."

"Yes, ma'am."

He opens the door and goes back out into the crowd.

M finally lets herself whimper.


End file.
